I Can't Live In A World Without You
by FallInLoveWithTeganAndSara
Summary: Tegan Quin is a successful musician/producer; Sara Quin is also a major influence in the music industry. Both woman meet rather suddenly, not knowing who the other is in the moment. Tegan is set to go on tour at the end of the month; Sara set to leave for a handful of shows in Europe. Both woman are ready for love, but will they pay the price of dropping their careers for it?


**TEGAN'S POV**

I walk to the bookstore that I go into way too often; most of the time I don't do anything except for sitting in one of the plush-velvet chairs and stare out the window, but today I want to finish up that book I've been so engrossed with. It's called _A Tale of Two Cities_ written by Charles Dickens, and I shocked myself by reading through three of the hard-to-understand literature's chapters in one sitting. I'm only twenty-five but I'm still allowed to struggle a bit with Dickens' writing.

"Hey, Tegan," my friend Lindsey says from behind the little counter they added less than a month previous. "Do you want your usual?"

Shaking my head I say a polite "no, thank you" and head all the way to the back of the store where I know the little book will still be placed. The plush chair situated right by the round window is vacant and I can already see the salmon colored pink paperback in the shelf where I first found it. I smile, snatching up the book and plopping down in the arm chair, cracking open the book to where I left off at closing-time yesterday.

**SARA'S POV**

Being my own manager, of time, at least, I'm thankful that I set times for myself when I'm supposed to get tracks emailed to my actual manager. This gives me an opportunity to head into my other job at a coffee/bookstore until it closes, then to my apartment a few blocks away.

As soon as I step in the door my good friend, and colleague, Lindsey Byrnes tosses an apron at me from across the newish counter. "Great, you're here. I can go on break for a little bit,"

"Okay, then," I laugh, tying the apron around my waist and walk under Lindsey's arm when she holds up the little draw-bridge counter. "I haven't even set my bag down and you're already on me like a crazed woman,"

Lindsey brushes the light-brown fringe from her eyes. "I'm sorry, Sara, truly. My girlfriend and I are just going through a rough patch right now."

"Do I know that feeling," I say lightly, turning my back and placing my bag in the room behind the coffee area. "Hopefully it'll work out when you two talk – that's a lot better than fighting."

"I hope so too," Lindsey mutters, biting her thumb-nail gingerly. "I'll see you in thirty, Sara,"

I take my phone out of my pocket, checking the time and bite my lip when I see it's only three hours until Lindsey and I have to close up; three hours until I go all the way in the back to organize the book shelves; three hours until I find the same girl sitting in the same seat, reading the same book, not leaving until the same hour each day. I don't know anything about her, just that she comes in at eleven each day, sometimes gets a coffee from Lindsey, then disappears until closing time. But I have seen that girl in a few situations: I've seen her crying into a book about a cancer patient dying; I've seen her vigorously typing out a text message, then slam her Blackberry down on the table beside her; I've seen her standing by the window with a wistful expression in her eyes; I've seen her talking into the phone with a look that could kill. We haven't had a full conversation other than:

"Hey,"

"Oh, hey," she says whenever I catch her off guard.

I stare at her sometimes, longer than I mean to, but she always smiles warmly at me. Then I point to my watch and blurt out, "We're closing up now, actually,"

And she always stands up abruptly but also smoothly, brushing her pants off and grabbing her phone, saying, "Thanks for telling me," and then walks past. Sometimes, just _sometimes_, I can see a blush creeping up onto her cheeks when she turns around to say, "Good night," pausing because she doesn't know my name.

Just that mutual contact is enough to send me to my knees, looking through stacks and shelves of books, just to know which one has a new worn edge, a frayed piece of paper, a dented spine, or a stain that wasn't there before.

I walk around the small area behind the counter, checking on the machines, which is what Lindsey mostly does when she isn't making teas or espressos. As my eyes take in the familiar gadgets and bobs of the stainless-steel latte maker I spot a laminated card tacked onto the wall underneath the coffee maker. I lean down, reading the little note: "Tegan Quin's regular: medium caramel light-and-sweet iced coffee, two shots espresso on a bad day."

Right as I look up, the girl from all the way in back walks up to the front counter, Blackberry in hand and an annoyed expression etched on her face. I watch as she shoves the phone in her front pocket and stands a little straighter, taking a piece of paper out of another pocket without looking up. "Lindsey, can I get my usual now? Its overdue and I feel like I need some sugar." When she doesn't hear the machine's working, and thank god there's barely anybody in here, she looks up, dark brown eyes holding a question. When she realizes it isn't Lindsey she breaks out into a smile. "Hey, it's you! You're the cute girl that always comes back and tells me when it's closing time, wow,"

"And it's you: the girl I go back and tell its closing time to," I say, shoving my hands into my back pockets to keep from shaking. "Nice to see you standing for once,"

The woman laughs. "Yeah, that's true,"

We stare at each other, I don't even know for how long. She's got short brown hair with these wavy wisps of hair pushed off to the left side of her head, medium sized brown eyes that look lighter in the better lighting, and these beautifully thin lips. The girls reminds me something out of a fairy-tale – being too good to be true. This woman is short, her chest barely making it above the high marble counter which she stands in front of, and her style of clothing is kind of punk with a flair of girlyness mixed in. She wears a black leather jacket over a shirt that says "We Are You" in big white lettering, and zebra stripped leggings paired with white Doc Marten's. I watch her bite her lip, not even noticing the fact that her labret is pierced with a small silver ball in the marked spot; it makes me grin knowing that I wasn't the only one who had that piercing at a time.

Suddenly the door bursts open with an annoyed looking Lindsey coming inside. As soon as she sees the girl standing at the counter she says, "Hey, Tegan. You want that coffee now, don't you?"

I bite back a sound I know that will escape my lips. This is Tegan Quin. _The _Tegan Quin! Music producer and solo musician that every teenager girl wants to sleep with. How could I be so blind!?

"Sure, Lindsey," Tegan answers, never taking her eyes off of me.

There's a few minutes while Lindsey tries to make me move so she can get Tegan's coffee correct that I silently fangirl over the beautiful woman in front of me. "God, it's like you two are having sex with your eyes," Lindsey grumbles, pushing the coffee up onto the counter in between Tegan and I.

"God, Lindsey! Don't even say that!" I say right as Tegan says it with me, the same note of exasperated shock and the undertone of confusion clear in her voice. "You know Lindsey too?" We ask together. "Of course I know Lindsey, who doesn't?" We say again.

"Twins," Tegan says slowly, a smile creeping up on her beautiful lips. She adverts her doe eyes to Lindsey, smirking. "Thanks for the coffee, Linds. I'll see you at closing time," she winks at me, sending ripples of ice-cold shivers up my spine.

"Yeah, see you then," I whisper, feeling my hands start to shake.

Right as Tegan rounds the corner, Lindsey seizes me and drags my smaller frame into the door where I put my bag over thirty minutes ago. "Oh, my god, Sara! Teeg's was totally checking you out!"

"Lindsey, Jesus, I can't be this close to you!" Her hands loosen on me and I run my hands down my apron, trying to stall. "She didn't even ask my name,"

"Oh, Tegan's like that, trust me. She likes to leave girls to follow her," Lindsey smiles, pushing away from the wall to put on an identical apron to mine.

"Is she nice?" I ask in nearly a whisper.

"I've known her since 2008, so yeah, she's really sweet."

The conversation ends like that because we get back outside and start getting right back into the swing of things at work. My mind buzzes the whole time at the fact that Tegan Quin was in my five foot bubble mere minutes ago.

**THREE HOURS LATER**

Lindsey's usual job is to clean the machines and the upfront while I go into the back to wake up the readers, clean up the coffee cups, and find people in compromising conditions. Thank god there aren't many coffee cups or people getting off on kinky books this time, but there is Tegan Quin right in her usual spot, staring out the window.

"I never got your name, you know," she says softly.

I almost want to look behind me, or just walk away, because I feel like she isn't talking to me. But, she looks away from the window and stands, giving a small smile at me. "I'm Sara. Sara Quin,"

Her eyes grow wide, taking me in now that I've given her a name. "You're Sara Quin the musician? Why do you work at a coffee shop mid-day?"

"I could ask you why Tegan Quin comes in during Lindsey's shift and sits until closing time half of the year," I counter, smirking when I see her eyes light up.

"Don't worry, I'll be going on tour soon, and I think you are too," Tegan says, walking over to me with her coffee cup in hand. "Do you need any help?"

I look down at the bag in my hand, lifting it up. "Just throw your cup in here,"

Tegan does so, looking a little anxious when our eyes lock again.

**TEGAN'S POV**

I feel incredibly light right now, not because of a sugar high – those have stopped effecting me – but because I'm standing very close to another musician I admire with my whole heart. I have every single one of Sara Quin's albums from the start of her career up until her last one, which was called The Con done in 2007. So, I'm still in a bit of shock at the fact that she looks so ordinary in a black apron and just a regular set of clothes, nothing like she wears on tour. That's why it was hard to recognize her at first glance this whole time.

"Are you two going to do something tonight together or just stand there like before?" Lindsey's familiar voice asks, her head poking around the corner.

"Lindsey, really?" I ask, knowing I'm more annoyed than giving off the fact that I'm completely calm about just staring at Sara for a little while longer.

"Well, if you aren't going to ask Sara out, Tee, than let's all hit the bar tonight. I need a drink. My girlfriend is starting to annoy me," Lindsey projects mostly towards Sara.

Sara turns around at this, concern written all over her face. "Are you two going to take a break?"

She puts a hand on her hip, leaning into the wall next to her now. "Do you think that's the smartest thing to do? I've got a lot of work coming up and she wants me to drop all of these great opportunities to just stay in her place for months on end."

"If she's starting to control part of your career than its time to break it off," I speak up, taking the bag from Sara's hand. "Oh, we're so heading to that bar tonight, Linds. No question about it."

Sara and Lindsey exchange a quick glance, then Sara looks to me, a large smile lighting up her chiseled features. "Then you're going to help out with the lock-up part of the shop,"

**FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER**

"Okay, that wasn't bad at all," I say mostly to myself as the three of us walk out the back door of the coffee shop.

During the process of locking up, Sara was mostly in charge of getting the back rooms cleaned and presentable for the customers tomorrow. We bumped into each other more than once, our hands brushing, each time Lindsey would pop up from behind the counter giving a gesture or calling out extremely loud, "MUSICIAN BUMP!"

"This must be extremely calm for you," Sara says to me, her eyes showing muted happiness while Lindsey is a little ways ahead of us, yelling into the phone.

"The break from touring? Yeah," I shrug, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my leather jacket. "What about you?"

Sara smiles, fishing in her pockets for something. "It's different. But, I like different, I suppose. I enjoy keeping myself busy once I'm off of touring and New York is one of the places that keeps my mind and body occupied."

We walk a little farther along the sidewalk until I decide to ask questions. "Are you with anyone?"

"No, I'm not. I was engaged once but some things came up and we went our separate ways." She answers a little short, so she must still be a little sore about it. "What about you?"

I laugh. "I can't find anyone that is as passionate about something like I am with music, and that bothers me, you know? Because if she and I can't be together all the time while I'm touring, I want her to be occupied with something other than me on her mind."

"That makes complete sense," Sara mutters into her jacket.

"Hey, Sara," I say slowly, stopping in my tracks.

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind if I ask you to put your number in my phone?" I ask, knowing I'm probably blushing, but thank the fact that it's dark out so we can barely see one another.

"Sure, but only if you do the same thing with mine," she says shyly.

"Of course,"

We trade phones, exchange numbers, and start walking again. The whole time we make our way to the bar with a pissed off Lindsey running around and kicking things nearly to blocks ahead of us, all I can think about is how different my life might become with this amazing person in my life now.


End file.
